Caged insanity
by hiddendaisy1821
Summary: MI6. Knighthood. Jail. Asylum. In his mind they all had one thing in common – boredom. And then there was one name that meant exactly the opposite - Irene Adler. Interest perhaps. Intellect for sure and now also the time to discover passion. For what, read and find out…


**Disclaimer**: Sherlock and its characters belong to the BBC. I'm just borrowing.

**Pairing: **Sherlock/Irene

**Summary:** MI6. Knighthood. Jail. Asylum. In his mind they all had one thing in common – boredom. And then there was one name that meant exactly the opposite - Irene Adler. Interest perhaps. Intellect for sure and now also the time to discover passion.

**AN: **This is a post series 3 AU story. Meaning Moriarty did not make an appearance in those last few minutes. Everything else still happened as it did on the show. Enjoy the story and if you have time let me know what you thought!

-SH-

There are many things Mycroft Holmes is capable of, but even he could do very little after more than a dozen of agents have stood witness to his baby brother killing Magnussen in cold blood. Still being the British government he wasn't entirely helpless, or without a sense of humor. There were rumors of a possible exile but in the end he was put in a place where his mind was put to best use - an asylum. Among his pears many would say. Vengeance or Mycroft's way of keeping him under his watch, it was hard to tell. Sherlock chose to believe it was the former. Brotherly love included.

The asylum was a place where not many ventured - he found it to be a breeding ground for good ideas and radical conduct. Maybe it was not the nicest venue but he would make due, for now. Some things were best observed in their natural habitat, the evolution of insanity was what he found fascinating. A trait of every good sociopath in the making, and he had years of progress.

The odor of medicinal and cleaning chemicals was easily felt in the air. If it was inhaled for more than 24 hours it would drive anyone clinically insane in his opinion. The things people suffered for their craft and his was most delicious when it came to taking one to the brink of insanity and pulling them back to Earth. It was an irreplaceable high, one he was addicted to since the earliest memories.

Consulting detective, a place created for a person they didn't know how to handle. That is what he did, created opportunities where otherwise there were none to begin with.

There is a light tap on his shoulder (insecure, beginner) someone who isn't used to being in this facility, maybe just starting out, conclusion - intern. Any other solution that presented in his mind wasn't viable, for if it was anyone he knew they wouldn't be dealing with him in such a timid manner.

"Your medicine Mister Holmes."

He turned to observe the young woman in front of him, clearly just graduated and by the dark circles and baby smell on her he guessed a new mother to boot. His condolences. Taking the pills and swallowing them just for the nicotine like high he quickly tossed her the cup and turned away unimpressed.

"Be on your way, chop-chop. Being here doesn't mean I have to suffer through wannabe doctors and lost cases."

She seemed startled as she heard the floor squeak under her shoe from her sudden movement but that was as much of his attention as he was willing to give.

"What?"

Quiver, disbelief, really did she need to be so predictable.

"What, did I stutter? March woman."

The steeliness of his voice left no room for argument and in the next moment she was gone. Rookies, no one is good for a verbal exercise these days. A clap soon echoed not far away from the window he was looking out off. New company, interesting.

"Bravo Sherlock, splendid use of social skill. Didn't I tell you before, do try to behave."

Oh, Hitler would've been a better company. Things he endured for his family.

"Really Mycroft, you stuff me in this straight jacket tin can and expect me to fart gratitude your way. There were guidelines our mother gave us on interaction for a reason."

A long sigh was as much patience they both had for each other.

"Sherlock, not fighting with real swords at the age of seven can hardly be applied here."

He spared him a glance before turning around to the dull view ahead of him.

"Well that may be so but my sentiment is still the same."

His footsteps echoed until he was standing beside him, he could see the slight misstep in Mycroft's step. He was favoring his right foot, war wounds acting up again.

"I thought at least the six months spent here would take the child out of you but clearly you still insist on acting like a toddler. Mother would be most disappointed."

Really, must they always end up talking about their parents? They didn't understand them, big deal they both understood that much when they were kids and now same still applied.

"England must've fallen if you have time to be here spouting nonsense. So I will ask again, why are you here Mycroft?"

It would seem his brother also didn't have time for chit chat and was quick to answer as he gazed at the same emptiness Sherlock did.

"I am less then pleased to say this but an affair has risen, and I implied it needed your expertise. I find it mildly boring but it will amuse you for a while."

He should've guessed by a number of things that his brother would be the one to finally have a way to pull him out of this place after he has killed that offensive man.

"Royal affair, attack on the queen- but how can that be as you are here, safe and unharmed."

The serious look on his brothers' face didn't go away and he was tempted to ask if it was something in regards to John but held his tongue for his brother surprised him again.

"There was a rather big covert scandal and information had been leaked. We managed to plug the holes but there was one that got away with it."

He was afraid to ask, but there was only one who had the nerve to deal with the state on his behalf and his brother confirmed it.

"It seems we are again dealing with the woman. Miss Irene Adler I presume."

Well, there goes his vacation.

II

They say nothing travels faster than the bad press and in here that is followed accordingly. The moment he was released the papers crucified him for being let go after such a heinous crime. Many wondered how it was possible but that was the problem - they guessed without sufficient proof. He, on the other hand, never guesses unless he has something to back up his crazy theories as they say.

Upon release the first thing on his to-do list was finding his residence. Sherlock Holmes without Baker Street was an unfortunate event and he would not tolerate it. Ignoring the following press he entered the apartment and was greeted by Missus Hudson.

"It is nice to see your face Sherlock. Have they been feeding you, I have some of that green tea and biscuits already on your plate."

As much as he sometimes couldn't tolerate the old bat he was more than pleased to see a familiar face. By the wrinkles on her shirt and a tired look in her eyes he could deduce that the emotional trauma that followed this entire affair hadn't left her unaffected.

"I believe you have a vacant place Missus Hudson - my place to be exact. I hope you didn't move the skull, I'd be really disappointed."

He was already striding up the small staircase and he could hear her voice echoing from downstairs.

"I have left everything as it was Sherlock, didn't even change the wallpapers from the bullet holes. It is as dingy as you left it."

"Much appreciated."

That was all he said before he slammed the door and cut the outside world. Silence at last.

Sitting in his chair he inhaled for a moment before intertwining his hands to somehow hold all the information Mycroft gave him and make sense of the possible theories that were swimming in his head.

The first thing that came to mind - scandal and data. If it was believed she was up to her old tricks it was a scandal of intimate nature or the promise of intimacy that helped her to acquire the secret data. He only needed to follow her trail and he would find her, but that wasn't what the issue here was. The issue was a much more complicated and it resided in the notion of why.

Why expose herself again in such a public way?

The inability to provide an answer to the question made his palms sweat and he needed to put his hands to the sides. How much did he really want to divulge on said topic? Sure, he held her cunningness in the highest regard, a game well played. He was entertained beyond belief and she had managed to outwit him on multiple occasions. A worthy adversary.

There was a buzzing sound coming from the bedroom. He didn't check his place - a rookie mistake, he should've taken note on possible changes. Steadily he moved towards it. Opening the door he saw a rather well kept bed and with half interest he glanced over the things on it. The buzzing repeated and he went towards it. Uncovering the blanket he saw the offending device. A phone.

He took it in his hand and saw the message.

_I believe congratulations are in order. Not every day does a person get released from an asylum. Left you a present, hope it still fits._

He moved the blanket further to reveal a coat and a scarf neatly placed over each other and on top of them a note.

_Let's have dinner._

That was the second part of the issue he didn't want to deal with, but it would seem he had no other choice. The game was on.

III

The air was burning his lungs, the crisp London weather costing him his smoking habit once more. It was yet again inevitable for him to dial down on the nicotine patches but he couldn't seem to separate himself from them as he would lose one of fundamental sources for his mind palace.

Now, as his footsteps were thudding upon the rain soaked streets he couldn't help but curse his habit. Still, his strides were eating up the pavement as he was trying to catch the illusive and maybe even imaginary glimpse of the person that should be before him.

Lately he had trouble sleeping, not that he minded but the board would play tricks on him and sometimes even he would wonder if he was being delusional. That is why he took the added batch of anti-psychotics and upped the dose just in case. When you should be afraid of your own shadow you do not pick the means which will rightfully give you the edge.

Whatever gets you there, right?

The familiar scent hit him and he spun around franticly trying to locate the next clue in his chase only to see the familiar locks at the end of the street at the crossroads. Without much consideration he rushed towards them, but in the next moment they were gone around the corner. Still, he gave chase.

Around him, ordinary people just minding their business, not really understanding the importance of this quest, the battlefield upon which he walked. It must be so boring in their minds, everything revolving around the next paycheck and bills, hoping to be sane enough for the next month when they get to do it all again. Add to that, kids and family and he would rather stare down the barrel of the gun.

His shoulder bumped into someone beside him, but he paid them no mind for his quest raged on. Maybe the quality of a good man was in admitting when something was futile, in giving up the chase, but not his. He would go to the ends of the earth just for a clue and glimpse, anything to dull the ache of everyday monotony that stressed him more than any culprit could.

His phone buzzed with the familiar sound but he paid it no mind, it was made to distract and he would not have it. His eyes roamed the crowd around him eagerly cataloging the relevant from non-relevant. Then he saw it again. The dark locks that left no room for debate and wonder for he knew what it represented and he rushed across the street.

The moment he stepped on the road a laud horn could be heard and he stepped aside in reflex, averting his eyes from the target and turned his gaze towards the cabby. Giving him a rather non impressed look he turned back to the other side where the person was still standing staring at the window of a nearby shop.

Quickly maneuvering, he made it and the familiar perfume hit his senses. In that moment he extended his hand and turned the person around, a small mid breath whisper falling from his lips.

"Irene…"

As the blue eyes stared back at him he realized his mistake. Those were not the eyes he wanted to see and the disappointment rushed through him like a train. Maybe he really was losing his mind.

"Excuse me I thought you were someone else."

With that he let her go and turned to walk the other way, running a hand through his hair in agitation. Had he really lost his touch so much? He couldn't even focus on simple fact and recognize when something's not there no matter how much you wish otherwise.

A tap on his shoulder and he was back in reality yet again, sharing his anxiety with the person who demanded his attention. When he looked, the pair of the same eyes from before was staring back at him. As if he wasn't ridiculed enough today.

"What?"

The question escaped like a spitfire from his lips, angry at himself more than the person before him, but soon an object in her hands had his attention. It was a midnight blue scarf with a letter on it.

"Sorry sir, but a lady from a few moments ago gave me this and told me to give this to the person who mistakes me for someone else."

She softly pressed the items into his hands and turned to walk away, but not before turning around and dubiously asking "Are you Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective?"

His eyes never strayed from the items in his hand, feeling the fabric and taking their shape searching for irregularities.

"No, do I look like I wear a funny hat?"

He didn't even wait for her to respond, he was walking away. He took the peace of parchment and unfolded it and on it read.

_You nearly caught me, Mister Holmes. It was fun chasing around the city, did you miss me? Who knew you were such a romantic. Anyways, don't be rude to her, she was just doing as I asked. Here's scarf so you don't get chilly from all the running, it is rather cold this evening. Better luck next time and when you do… Let's have dinner._

He clasped the paper in his hand and folded the scarf around his neck. It still had that familiar scent on it. Next time he would definitely be of better luck because when he chased her there was no end. He would never stop until the puzzle was unraveled.

He took out his phone, ignored the empty message that came and just sent two words.

_Nicely played._

Not a moment too soon a reply sounded. Opening the message, it contained all he needed to know and more.

_Good night, Mister Holmes._

If he really was honest with himself he had to admit that the freezing air of a fall London evening really did dawn upon him. Now, he really didn't mind it at all. He had satisfied his curiosity for the day, or the evening.

IV

His search had led him this far. He hasn't been on a plane since that whole chaos started and now being on one was like some unknown force was holding its hands around his neck and squeezing slowly until all he could see were the white spots in front of his eyes.

Yes, a beginning of a heart attack. Mentally and theoretically he was prepared but now he felt the same suffocating feeling that he felt back then when he was taking the footsteps towards that offending small plane and leaving England supposedly forever.

Resting his hands on the arm rest he could tell that this was going to be a long flight and probably one that would bring him nothing but torture or every moment of its duration. Still, it needed to be done. Now his search for the Woman has led him across the boarders and it was as if he couldn't breathe. The mighty Sherlock Holmes cowering at the sight of a plane and isn't that just too funny.

Taking a calming breath he tried to center himself. Things were always in his reach and it was now for that precise reason that he was doing this. He was doing this for her, as he did so many times before. Mainly it was the game that he enjoyed but this one was taking a large toll on him.

"A bit out of touch Mister Holmes?"

He was startled by the sound of her voice in his ear. His problems forgotten he turned around to face her on the seat behind him, but before he could do so her voice stopped him.

"Nah uh Sherlock, otherwise I will have to leak some rather inappropriate information about your dear brother, or would you prefer something about John?"

Well that froze him in his place. Settling back in his seat he felt the return of his anxiety and this time even his calming breathing technique couldn't stop it.

"You manned up to get on the plane, but then act like an idiot on it. I thought you were better than this. Where is the dispassion and lack of sentiment now Sherlock?"

He gritted his teeth as another wave of panic washed over him, but he stuffed it down. He would not give her the satisfaction of seeing him down.

"I'd be much better if not for your incessant presence woman."

There, that sounded much more like the old Sherlock. The one that he now deemed an idiot and a failure, the one who didn't know the value of people even if it hit him on the head. Pleased by the lack of nausea he focused on her and she didn't disappoint.

"Oh you confuse me with one of normal idiots walking around and you know I am so much more than that Sherlock, or do you still prefer Mister Holmes. I know you like it formal." she said with a raised eyebrow, a small laugh escaping those lips and he couldn't possibly expect the comfort it brought him. Here, finally was a person who understood him, no mask or appropriate etiquette to fit in.

"With you I prefer distance - a continent between were much preferred."

She always brought this out, the spoiled man child who couldn't help but want to get his way. Still, she always outwitted him, no matter the circumstance.

"Ah, and after all the time you invested to find me. You're even flying across the ocean just to check on a lead, that I, mind you planted, so mind trying again with your answer. Somehow I don't believe you."

No matter what she always voiced the things that scared him the most, things he was afraid to acknowledge or deem worthy of his time. She always brought the curiosity to find out more about them and maybe even enjoy her company while he does. Those were the things old Sherlock never would have thought. This one doesn't seem to stop.

As always he relented, tired and defeated by all that time he got to spend in an asylum telling himself how it was alright and fine. His own brother couldn't muster to see him for longer than a couple minutes every few months. Then there was John. The poor man was getting more lost with every visit, unable to take the injustice of it all to a point Sherlock feared for him and was far to relieved when Marry came along. Now they were building a new life together.

Which was a joyous thing but it also meant that he was left behind once more. A genius and a prodigy but he had a social decency of a pit-bull. Outcast and misunderstood like all those rebel songs of the psychedelic rock said. That is until her.

"Fine and pray tell me why you dragged me to this altitude only to confront me in this bizarre manner. Couldn't we do this in a pub or better yet at the comfort of my apartment?"

That may have sounded wrong, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Because I wanted you out of your comfort zone and in a place that made even you give up your mask and admit you are a human being. One that can be talked to, not only talked at."

Her answer surprised him but if he knew her there was also more to that story, and so he inquired.

"But there is something else also. Out with it."

He could hear her shuffling in the back seat and then she moved herself to sit next to him. Why was this plane so empty, off topic, but really? As the familiar perfume showered his senses his mind just snapped to focus and it all came together.

"You wanted me on the way to America so you could convince me to stay there and not worry about me just walking away. Miss Adler, a rather cunning endeavor."

She only smiled, the guilt and truth reflected on her face. For the first time after so long he got to see her and he drank her in, all his senses tuned to her. He took note of every nook and cranny that made her tick and any changes that may have befallen, small or large.

"You are right, as usual. I couldn't stay in England for obvious reasons and I wanted you by my side. England doesn't want you now Sherlock, as you are outcast and blemished as a murderer and a liar. Time for a fresh start."

He was watching her, noticing the subtle confidence and hope in her eyes for he knew she cared enough to go through all this just for him to have someone he connects with. To drag him away from a distraught place and make peace somewhere else until he was ready to return or England needed him to.

Slowly he clasped his hands in hers and a small smile formed on his face as he felt that connection. Her own smile blossomed in surprise at his action and a genuine happiness shone on her face.

"Any place in particular, Miss Adler?"

She finished getting them champagne in the meantime from the stewardess and then gave him one to toast with her. He wasn't much for alcohol but he would indulge her. This time.

"Away from a cage and into the freedom, Mister Holmes."

The cage was closing around him for a better part of a couple of years and he felt like the entire country had become this giant stale cage that judged and prosecuted him at every waking moment and now he was out of it. Because he knew the moment he found Irene Adler and handed her to his brother he would be placed back into that cage of insanity and that would simply not do.

"As the lady wishes."

She smiled fully, a glint of mischief and wickedness behind that smile. He shivered at the thought of what he had got himself into. It would be a hell of ride.

"I am no lady Mister Holmes. You'd do well to know that."

He knew that and he already looked forward to her wickedness and a chance to embrace his own sense of insane and let the two devils clash. It would be a glorious sight.

One he was looking forward to.

"I am no angel Miss Adler, you do well to remember that."

The glint in his eyes made her look at him unexpected and in surprise. Good, he still had some tricks to teach her.

"Oh I always knew that Sherlock."

Perhaps, they both did and were just fine with that.


End file.
